


Geist of the Tidepool

by alpine_street



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dark, Detective Saihara Shuichi, Detectives, Dubious Consent, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Murder Mystery, Necrophilia, Ocean Sex, POV Saihara Shuichi, Past Akamatsu Kaede/Saihara Shuichi, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Sirens, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpine_street/pseuds/alpine_street
Summary: A year after setting up shop in Tokyo as a freelance private detective, Shuichi Saihara takes on a case in a sleepy, oceanside town. Under-qualified as he may feel taking on a string of murders, he dives in headfirst.However, Shuichi's suspicions that something even more sinister may be afoot in the tiny town of Kiwasetsu do not go unfounded for long. Residents who live by the sea leave food outside of their homes at night, high volumes of dead marine life wash up on the town's shore without warning, and urban legends frequent the village about a mysterious creature who lures young men into the ocean, never to be seen again.A creature that saved Shuichi's life. A creature that won't let him sleep. A creature with purple hair and a young face.





	1. Prodigal

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sup fuckers. 
> 
> I've started a second fic while I'm still in the middle of writing another one because I hate myself. Or I need to switch gears for a while. One of the two.  
> Fair warning, in case you haven't already guessed from the tags, I didn't write this with the intention of it being a "feel-good" fic. I want to make this thing as dark and gross as I can. But that doesn't mean there's not gonna be that sought-after romance element. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for deciding to take the time out of your day to read this thing that I wrote. Over and out.
> 
> (Edit: The nurse in this chapter is meant to be Mikan Tsumiki, I didn't use her name since she's not part of the NDRV3 canon. Wasn't sure if that was clear.)

“Here are your keys. Let me know if you have any problems.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Sometimes the heating will just turn itself off, there’s kind of a trick to the thermostat. Just call down to the shop and I can fix it for you. And if not, well, maybe we can cuddle up and make things a little warmer together? A small-town girl and a mysterious drifter? Aaaanything could happen…”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Alright, alright, go on and get settled, you’re probably tired. Leave me alone, I got work to do. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Even though summer had just barely drawn to a close, the rural town of Kiwasetsu was already entrenched in gray skies and a thin layer of fog to match. It was no tropical beach town, but more of a ghostly port, where many people who didn’t travel for work put food on the table by retreating to commercial fishing rigs for weeks on end or managing their own small businesses in town, like the woman Shuichi was staying with.

Shuichi had rented an upstairs room in the shopping district with a bath and a kitchen from a woman named Miu Iruma. She ran a garage and auto parts shop downstairs, and despite her boorish demeanor, was very well-liked in town. Conversations with her that exceeded three minutes still made Shuichi extremely uncomfortable due to her tendency to bring up lewd topics offhandedly, but he could tell that Iruma was a good person. Plus she offered him a great deal on temporary housing with all the necessary amenities, the cost of which was easily covered by less than a third of his payments.

Shuichi found the little oceanside town pleasant enough, and it seemed like it had grown considerably since its founding. It had a few office buildings on the main stretch, a shopping mall in the outskirts, a small shrine overlooking the ocean, a primary school, junior high, and high school, a pub, a grocery store, and a tiny, thriving, working-class suburb. It was a town where everybody knew everyone else's name, even the people in law enforcement. It was a drastic downshift from the congestion and constant hustle of Tokyo, but in some ways it was a nice break. But Shuichi needed to stay grounded. He had come to Kiwasetsu strictly on business.

There was a hospital in Kiwasetsu connected to a family-owned health clinic, Shuichi’s first stop after he got settled into his temporary studio. It was where he would be meeting the police department representative that would help him oversee a certain operation at the hospital.

He walked into the empty lobby and sidled up to the reception desk. The receptionist, a sleepy-looking redheaded girl barely met his eyes. “Are you here to check in?”

“No, I’m actually here to meet Officer Amami. He should be waiting for me.”

The girl eyed him suspiciously. “So you’re the detective.”

“I… I suppose I am.”

She picked up the phone at reception and dialed it. “Paging Officer Amami to the first floor please, you have a guest.”

A few minutes later, a lanky looking man in uniform with hair that had been bleached green (clearly faded from its original color a bit), came down the main hall to greet him. He had more piercings and jewelry than Shuichi would expect a man to wear, giving him a bit of a feminine quality. Shuichi was surprised that a police officer was allowed to present so unprofessionally.

The man smiled. “Hey there. You must be the big city detective.”

Shuichi bowed. “That’s me. Shuichi Saihara, at your service, sir.”

“Officer Rantarou Amami at yours. Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

“You seem a little young to be detective. How long have you been in the business?”

Riding the hospital’s elevator felt like riding the train back home. There was an excessive amount of noise and more movement than a controlled mode of transportation should have. It must have been as old as the hospital itself.

Shuichi gripped the railing on the inside. “About two years. I graduated from college with a criminal sciences degree and started freelancing as a private investigator when I was 18.”

Amami whistled. “Wow. That’s the age I was when I was graduating _high school_. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and meanwhile you already had a whole career ahead of you. Damn. My higher-ups have taken a chance on a real prodigy. I'm a little jealous.”

“Well, my uncle ran his own agency for years, and I worked there when I was a teenager. So I had some connections.”

“Any big-ticket cases in those two years on your own? Any gritty, crime drama cases?”

“Mostly just fraud and inheritance disputes. A couple of wealthy women paranoid that their husbands were cheating on them. I’ve only completed a few murder cases.”

“Successfully, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Shuichi said. "I haven't dropped a case as of yet."

The elevator bell rang, signaling the two to get off.

Amami sprang up from where he was leaning. “This is us. Follow me.”  

The operating room that Amami had taken him to was as white as snow and eerily silent. In the center was an operating table covered with a sheet with a surgeon’s light affixed over it. Shuichi approached the table. “Are we the only ones here?”

Amami followed him in, pushing an operating tray away from the table. “Yeah. Why?”

“You guys don’t have any forensic surgeons or anything like that?”

Amami laughed nervously. “In Japanese, please?”

“Uh… someone who can determine the exact cause of death.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve got someone like that. Let me call them up,” Amami said. “But I have to say, I thought detectives were the ones that did all of that. I guess there’s still a lot that I don't know about this kind of thing.”

Shuichi put on a pair of blue rubber gloves sitting beside the operating table. He hadn’t even taken into account that this tiny gaggle of hayseed cops might not have any idea what they were doing. It wasn’t like multiple homicides were regular occurrences in towns as small as Kiwasetsu.

Shuichi could see the soft outline of a face underneath the sheet, the shadows outlining the eye sockets, likely sunken and hollow at this point.

A forensic nurse joined them in no time, a shy looking woman with stringy, unkempt dark hair. She greeted the two men, put on her gloves and mask, turned on the operating light, and pulled back on the sheet covering the table.

“Jesus--!”

Shuichi had seen pictures, but he still wasn’t prepared for seeing one of the bodies up close. The face of the boy looked fair and peaceful enough, with little amiss save for a pale complexion and grey eyelids. If the eyes wandered any further down, however, it was a different story. A large cavity in the boy’s stomach stared back at Shuichi, about the width of a basketball. Broken ribs occasionally stuck themselves out of the sides, and most of the boy’s entrails were clearly visible. They were more grey than red at this point in time.

 

Shuichi recollected himself. “And this took place…?”

“Two days ago...” the nurse finished, timidly. “His family is pretty eager to get his body in the ground.”

Amami scratched his head, not especially perturbed by the state of the body. “I know this kid’s parents. They’re nice folks. Sucks that it had to happen to them,” he said. “Well, cause of death kind of looks like a gimme, huh?”

Shuichi hovered a shaky hand over the body, shifting his viewing angle several times. “Well, sort of. What was your analysis?” he asked the nurse.

She drew back a bit. “W-well, I was only given a brief period for examination, but… basically excessive hemorrhaging and blood loss.”

“Can you be more specific? Is there any evidence of any tools used to induce fatality?”

“Th-that’s the part that scared me a little…” the nurse squealed. “I didn’t find any evidence at all of any sharp objects used to rip through the skin. There’s no consistent cut anywhere, so a knife couldn’t have been used to tear through the stomach. It’s more likely that the abdomen was opened with a blunt force object.”

“A blunt object?” Amami asked. “Like a… crowbar? Or a hammer?”

“N-not exactly…”

Shuichi leaned a bit closer. “Could you lift that flap of skin a bit for me, please?” The nurse complied, taking a pair of forceps and lifting the edge of the cavity. “Yeah… the cut isn’t clean enough. Strange. What state was the body in when it was found?”

“It was dripping wet,” said the nurse.

“It was what?”

The nurse went on. “S-sometimes bodies will wash up on the shore along with the animals… others are just found around town. But they’re always covered with seawater. So there’s also the possibility that the victims were drowned first and then cut open. O-or forced open. Or… I-I don’t know.”

“Do we have the bodies of any of the other victims on hand?”

“No, they’ve been buried,” the nurse said. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Shuichi said.

He examined the body awhile longer, occasionally taking notes and asking questions. Not many of them yielded especially useful answers, but it was important that Shuichi assume he wasn’t hitting a dead end. No information was useless information.

After prodding for a while, he decided to withdraw. “I think I’ve seen everything that I need to see. I have pictures on file as well. Thank you both for your time.”

Shuichi and Amami exited the operating room. Shuichi tore off his gloves and threw them in the garbage bin outside of the room. “Ok. Tomorrow I’ll start interviews. Thank you for accompanying me, Amami-kun.”

“Hey, no worries! I want to do everything I can to help out with this case.” Amami leaned against the wall of the hallway. “Hey, um, I know that this kind of work is probably really stressful. So if you ever need to unwind a little, some of my buddies and I like to go to the pub down by the pier some evenings. Good beer, great view of the ocean. Come by and hang if you feel like it. You’re staying at Iruma’s shop, right? It’s not too far from there.”

Shuichi smiled. It was a kind gesture, especially since Amami hadn’t known Shuichi for very long at all. He was surprised by it, but maybe that was because he lived in the city, where neighbours avoided eye contact and girls clutched their keys between their fingers at night. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

 

\--

 

He was thankful that there was a desk in the room he had rented. It gave him a space to mull over his findings. Looking at pictures of dead bodies wasn’t very uplifting, but it beat sitting around doing nothing. He wrote down any possibilities that came up. He was trying to think of ways that skin could be penetrated by something other than a sharp object.

_What if...no. Probably not._

Maybe he was spreading himself too thin. It was 11:00 at night, but his head was still swimming with activity. He needed to do something that would clear his head. The sky was still light from both fog and light pollution, so he could do it.

He snatched his car keys up from the keyring by the door and left, locking the apartment. He ran into Iruma on the way down. She had closed up the shop long ago, but she was still lingering for some reason. She was wearing pink, fuzzy pajamas with cartoon robots printed on them.

“The hell are _you_ still doing up?” She asked. “You’re not draining the electricity up there, are you? Jeez, go to bed!”

“I can’t sleep. I’m gonna go out for a drive.”

“You sure?” Iruma asked.

“Yeah. I think that’ll calm my nerves.”

“Alright, well, if you get ass-raped by ghost boy don’t come crying to me.” She was holding what looked like chopped carrots and peas on a plate for some reason.

Shuichi furrowed his brow. “If I get...?”

Iruma groaned. “It was a joke, limpdick. Urban legend around these parts.” She opened the door to the shop and set the plate on the front step. “Just tellin’ ya to be careful is all.”

Shuichi stared at the plate of vegetables. “Do you… have a cat or something?”

“What? Oh. Nah,” said Iruma. “But it’s always gone in the morning, so I might as fuckin’ well.”

 

\--

 

The road was empty. Shuichi could go as fast or slow as he wanted once he reached the outskirts. He had been right. The monotony of driving was calming. He wasn’t focusing on the radio, but rolled the windows down instead. The briny wind whipping around him was enough noise to keep him focused. He drove slowly when he was beside the guard rail so that he could look out at the ocean.

In a way, he envied the people living in this tiny town in one regard. They could wake up to a view of the ocean and the sound of the crashing waves every morning. Then again, they were all probably used to it. They probably took it for granted, like how people in the city took fast internet connections and a lively work life for granted. And swiftly delivered food. Shuichi would give just about anything for a hot meal that he didn’t have to cook or leave his house to eat.

Kaede wouldn’t even have given it a thought. She would probably talk up the locals immediately so she could find out if there was a weekend market so that she could do some cooking with local ingredients. Shuichi had always felt like Kaede was a person that everyone could learn a thing or two from. She showed so much enthusiasm toward every new endeavor. Most people felt uncomfortable having a different person cut their hair than usual. Kaede would just pick up where she left off, cheerily griping about work as if it was the same person as always.

Shuichi noticed that the radio was playing Debussy's _Clair de Lune_. That must have been why he had started thinking about her. His guess was that it was a pre-recorded lineup, with not a soul broadcasting this late at night. Not locally, anyway. He pulled over onto a nearby stretch of gravel.

He thought about lighting a cigarette, but ultimately decided against it. It would only keep him awake longer. Debussy drolled on with his arrangement as Shuchi let his head fall back onto his seat’s headrest. The notes seemed angry, almost, when put against the roar of the ocean, rather than sad. There had been a time that the song had filled him with so much joy. Letting himself in through the back door of her house with the copy of the key she had made for him, under the radar of her parents. The song would be echoing through the hallways. He would follow it until he found her, in the foyer sitting at the piano, lost both in focus and in her music. She would barely notice him putting a hand on her waist as he sat down next to her.

_Stupid._

He switched the radio off. He turned his keys in the ignition and started back down the way he came.

He had been driving back for about five minutes before realizing he didn’t have his headlights on. He turned the headlight switch.

And his blood immediately ran ice cold the second he looked back up.

 

There was someone standing in the road.

 

“SHIT!”

Shuichi frantically swerved to avoid the person on instinct, only to realize that in his panic he had turned in the wrong direction. He had turned toward the edge of the road instead of the the other lane. There was no guard rail to contain him. He felt the nose of the car lurch downward.

He was staring down the craggy edge of a cliff at a murky body of water. But not for long. Shuichi could feel every single impact of the car on the jagged rocks as it rolled down the outcropping. It felt like he was being tossed inside of a steel salad spinner.

_Today on our show we’ll be making a delicious wedge salad._

He must have blacked out for half a second, because one moment he was being slammed against the car’s windshield, and the next moment he was completely submerged in water.

He opened his mouth to cry out in alarm, but all that came out was a pathetic, muffled noise and a large rise of bubbles. His lungs were screaming for the lost air that he was watching rise above him.

The light above the surface seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. Not only was he sinking, he was fading fast. He couldn’t breath. The growing pressure of the water bore into his skull as if it was going to implode. He watched several of the CDs he had put in the seat pocket float past him, as if he were in space.

 _Get out_.

Everything grew dark. Shuichi jiggled the release on his seatbelt. It refused to respond. His car wasn’t exactly new, and sometimes the parts could be finicky, but never once did he think it would betray him at a time like this. Had he the strength to force it off, he could have. But he didn’t. The panic, the lack of energy, the fear, it was too much.

He needed to press.

Press.

_Press._

_P r e s s._

He felt something touch his hand.

 

\--

 

Coughing.

Not exactly a pleasant sensation to be woken up by.

Briny sea water splashed back into his face as he gasped for breath. His chest felt like an elephant had sat on it. His stomach felt sunken and sick. Air rose in his throat for another cough. But nothing came out. Just a few chokes that ended in spasms, that made it even more impossible to breath.

No. That wasn’t a cough.

He rolled onto his side to vomit. His breath became more steady as he choked it out, and his vision had slowly begun to restore. Shuichi shivered as the cold, briny water prickled his skin and itched through his dress shirt. His chest rose and fell as if someone as if someone was hyperventilating into a paper bag. His body hurt in seemingly random places. He didn’t need to look to know there was a large gash on his forehead.

His back ached. He now noticed that he was lying on a grey, solid surface, gasping for air.

 _The person in the road_.

That was the first thing he thought of, other than regaining his life force. It had looked like a very frail person, not terribly large in stature. They almost seemed… naked.

Just standing in the middle of the road stark naked.

_Why?_

It didn’t matter. He was weak, dripping wet, coughing, and barely lucid. Why there was someone standing in the road hardly mattered. He rolled onto his back.

He was expecting the foggy, starless sky. He was met instead with a pair of eyes staring down at him.

He gasped in alarm, trying to use his arms to bolt upright, but his wrist slipped on the slick rock and he fell back. The owner of the eyes put a hand on his chest, as if to signal him to be calm.

They were the eyes of an old man on a young face. Both had deep cataracts, that reflected a blue, ethereal shimmer, like light refracting off of a soap bubble. There was a boy staring down at him, not a foot away from Shuichi. He wore no clothes, but instead a very strange expression, wide-eyed but smiling, ever so slightly. His skin was as pale as talcum powder, and he was ice cold to the touch. Shuichi didn’t know if that was the boy’s natural temperature or if it was because the water he was soaked with was seawater. His hair was beautiful. It was dark, with a tinge of purple, and it looked even sleeker since it was wet. Shuichi noticed that it was falling out in clumps in some spots.

Shuichi noticed that when the boy shifted, certain spots on his skin gave off a bit of a shine. Almost as if they were reflecting light. Were they… scales?

The boy smiled even wider. He grabbed Shuichi’s collar and forced the buttons of his shirt open.

Shuichi choked. “No.”

Nails like razors. They dug into Shuichi’s abdomen, just below the solar plexus. The boy kept smiling, scraping at Shuichi’s skin like a child violently itching a mosquito bite until it bled. With each burning rake of his nails, Shuichi felt the terror boil in his stomach and ring in his ears.  

“Stop!”

He grabbed the boy’s arm, using whatever strength he had left to prevent him from making anymore contact with his skin. The boy was strong for having such a skeletal structure, and he fought to meet the skin again. He jerked his hand back unexpectedly, twisting Shuichi’s arm in the process and making him cry out.

Shuichi tried to stagger upward to escape, but he was immediately met with a slippery, cold hand on his throat. The boy slammed his head hard against the jetty of rocks, making the back of skull explode with pain. His ears began to ring. His vision went for half a second.

The grip on his throat only tightened.

“Agh… ggkk....”

Only now could he see that the boy’s teeth were sharpened into points, like that of a barracuda or a shark. They were inches away from his face, set into a deep grin. The being seemed to delight in the fact that Shuichi was writhing underneath him violently, unable to breathe. Not matter how much he struggled and how forcefully he kicked, Shuichi couldn’t shake the iron clamp around his neck.

Saliva began to seep out of gritted teeth. Tears began to fall from his eyes. His face felt hot. His eyes were squeezed shut, concentrating every ounce of energy on shaking his sickly-smiled attacker.

His eyes flew open.

He saw the same, disgusting, smiling face staring back at him.

But the smile began to falter.

 

The boy was just staring. The cataracts made it seem like he could stare deep into Shuichi, into the deepest recesses of him.

Slowly, the boy loosened his grip on Shuichi’s throat. Shuichi gasped, feeling the heat drain from his face. His throat was still sore from hacking up seawater, but it had some more room for whatever fits of coughing Shuichi still had in him. He clutched his chest, which was screaming in pain from both lack of air and the force at which he was coughing. As the noise in his throat died down, he felt a pair of hands on his face.

The boy was cupping Shuichi’s face in his hands, lifting his head off of the ground. He looked suspicious, as if he were inspecting Shuichi’s features. He ran his fingers down the outline of Shuichi’s chin, stroking his lips with his fingers.

Shuichi’s eyes widened. “What… what are you...”

The boy drew his face closer to Shuichi’s.

His lips went to his forehead. They only brushed them for a moment as a small crackle of falling rocks rang out in the distance.

“Hello?”

The boy whipped his head up in alarm. He dropped Shuichi and quickly scrambled upward, moving out of his line of vision. Shuichi heard a loud _splash._ Shuichi could no longer see his assailant.

Almost as if he had escaped into the water.

“Hey!” The voice called again. Shuichi winced in pain. There was a bright light approaching him from across the jetty. It got brighter as the voice behind it got louder. But at Shuichi’s level of consciousness, it sounded muffled. Especially when put up against the ringing in his ears. “Holy fuck!” A rapid patter of footsteps came next. “Are you ok? Jesus, I saw your car go over the cliff from across the jetty--”

There was someone else at his side now. He had skidded to a stop at Shuichi’s side, the flashlight on his cell phone nearly blinding him. It was a young man with purple, spiked hair and a light beard. He shook Shuichi by the shoulders. “Hey! HEY! Are you still there? Don’t fucking fall asleep, are you still there?”

Weakly, Shuichi nodded.

The man turned the flashlight off and frantically dialed a number on his phone. “Hello? Hi, yes, I found someone out by the shore. He’s injured. Yeah, Kiwasetsu, that’s the place. No streets, I’m on the outskirts. No, I don’t fucking know the coordinates, I’m on the fucking outskirts! For the love of God, just send someone out here!”

_Stay awake._

_Think of something._

_Think of something you’ve memorized._

_I can’t remember any prime numbers._

_Something else._

_Something else._

_Yes._

 

 _Clair de Lune_ drawled on in his head as Shuichi listened for the sound of cars pulling up above him.


	2. Downpour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re artblocked and you know it clap your hands  
> *pap pap*  
> If you’re ready for Alpine to start recycling random characters from the franchise because they feel uncomfortable just giving random NPCs for lack of a better term too many lines and there aren’t any characters in the game this fic is based on to fill the character role they’ve written clap your hands  
> *pap pap*

 

Despite his best efforts, Shuichi was not able to stay awake. But he was able to wake up, which was what mattered. Instead of a hard surface, he awoke rested on a crisp, soft one. He immediately felt relief in his aching muscles. But it still hurt to move. His chest especially was sore from all of the tension it had been put through during what had just transpired. 

He couldn't recognize the view from his window, as it was pitch black outside. He would have guessed that he was in back at the hospital, but it had a very different atmosphere. The light was much softer. It wasn't apart of the building Shuichi had seen. 

It was a shared room in the clinic annex of the hospital. That was why. There were curtain partitions on either side of him.  

There was someone sitting next to him. A doctor, he guessed. He was a much older man, as he appeared to be in his late 70s. Shuichi could make out the nametag on his coat as “Tengan.” 

“You’re awake,” the man said. “Good. How are you feeling?”

Shuichi just groaned. 

“Well, I have to say that you’re in pretty good shape for somebody who just drove their car off of a cliff and into the sea.” He reached over to the bedside table to retrieve a small device. Shuichi recognized it as a breathalyzer. “I’m going to have to ask you to breathe into the mouthpiece.”

Shuichi put his lips over the mouthpiece as it was brought to his face. He was too weak and groggy to ask any questions. The man named Tengan pulled it away and checked the reading. “Well, you weren’t under the influence of alcohol. We know that much at least.”

“The boy…” Shuichi croaked.

“Hm?”

Shuichi kept staring at the ceiling in a pain-induced daze. “What happened… to the boy who was with me?”

“Momota?” Tengan said. “He’s returned home. He stayed for as long as we allowed him. He was very insistent on remaining here to see if you were alright. After he found you, he called the clinic and we sent someone down.”

“Not him…” Shuichi said. “The… other one…”

Tengan furrowed his brow. “Momota-kun informed me that you were alone when he found you. Was there someone else in the car with you when you went out driving?”

“No, but… he was… there when I woke up…”

Tengan got up from wear he was sitting, bracing himself against the chair to support his old bones. “Think on it more once you’ve recovered. Perhaps this boy you’re imagining was just a panic-induced hallucination.”  

A hallucination…

His stomach still burned from the scratches. His neck still hurt from being strangled. He had a headache from where the boy had slammed his head against the rocks on the jetty. If that was a hallucination, Shuichi must have swallowed half his weight in sludgy, polluted ocean brine. But he was too tired to debate with Tengan on the matter. 

“Do you… have the time?” Shuichi asked. 

Tengan looked at his wrist. “Just shy of 1:00 in the morning. You’ve only been unconscious for about four hours. You should go back to sleep. You need to rest after an automobile accident like the one you’ve just experienced. But not only does your mind need rest, so does your body. In the incident, you seem to have thrown out your neck.”

“I… I did?”

“When we were delivering you up here you bent your neck at an angle several times and it caused you intense physical discomfort. You must have twisted it when you were tumbling down the jetty.”

Shuichi tested the assertion by trying to move his head forward. He immediately felt a sharp pain shoot up the back of his neck. He retreated his head back to the pillow, whimpering.

Tengan shook his head. “You’re lucky that’s the only thing that was seriously hurt, young man. It amazes me that you were able to escape the car after it went under.” He opened a medicine cabinet from across the room, positioned over a sanitation area. “I can give you something to help you sleep, if you’d like.”

“Yes please.”

Tengan shook two pills out of a bottle and gave them to Shuichi. “Another thing. You’ll be needing stitches for the wound on your forehead. It’s stopped bleeding, but it will scar quite badly if we don’t get it sewn closed.”

“Mm-hmm.” Shuichi weakly brought the sleep medicine to his mouth. 

 

\--

 

Shuichi was able to sleep with the pills that Tengan had given him. He awoke again, feeling a bit more revived. There was light spilling in from the room's window. Tengan was gone. Probably tending to other patients.

Shuichi felt better rested, but he still felt weak and disoriented. He was able to sit up, but in doing so he twisted a nerve in the back of his neck, sending a bolt of excruciating pain through it. 

“Hhkk…!”

He gripped the sheets on his bed, knuckles turning white and eyes squeezed shut, trying to ride out the wave. It wouldn’t stop. Panting, Shuichi frantically reached over his bed to open the drawer in the bedside table. Still wary of Tengan’s possible return, he rummaged through the contents of the drawer and found a large, white medicine bottle. Upon closer inspection, it was a container of vicodin. 

He didn’t hesitate. He forced the bottle open, the tension not doing the agonizing feeling in his neck any favors, and took out one of the pills and swallowed it. He was hunched over, dizzy, and sure he was going to pass out from the pain, but he was able to ride it out. His breathing eventually slowed to a healthier pace. The sensations became manageable. 

_ Remember. _

Shuichi needed to remember everything that had happened. He touched the gash on his forehead, now covered with a strip of gauze.  _ From scraping my head on the dashboard.  _ He took deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth.  _ My chest still hurts from nearly drowning.  _ He touched the dip in the back of his neck.  _ It’s thrown out from when I was strangled. _

Strangled. Strangled by that boy.

He hadn’t imagined it. He was sure it had happened. 

_ Remember more.  _

He traced himself back to when the car had gone under. He had swerved, no, he had been avoiding something. A person in the road. A naked person standing in the road, completely static. The person looked very young, and very calm from what Shuichi had seen. He almost looked like…

No. They couldn’t have been the same person. 

How had he gotten out of the car? He must have escaped. The memory must have just been blocked somehow. Perhaps the lack of air had stunted something in his brain that connected his memories. Most people would say that all that mattered was the fact that they had escaped. But not Shuichi. He already knew that this would bother him endlessly until (if and when) his car could be salvaged. What he didn’t want to think about was if his insurance holder would refuse to cover any damage costs. That could wait.

But even despite all of these ideas swirling around his head that felt light with delirium, he felt as if he was forgetting something else. After a moment of pressing, he realized what it was. 

He had told Amami that he would be beginning interviews today. 

They would have to wait. As much as Shuichi hated delaying his work, he owed it to himself to get some rest. It was what anyone would do after an accident wherein they had nearly died.

He heard the door to the room creak open. He assumed it was Tengan coming in to check on him, but when Shuichi looked up that was not the case. A beam of light from the hallway shone onto the floor of the dim room, but Tengan was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, there was someone much smaller standing in the frame. Someone young. Someone childish. 

Shuichi’s eyes widened. 

Standing in the doorway, light from the hallway behind him, reflecting off of his bare skin like the reflection of the moon on water, was the boy from the jetty. 

 

Shuichi nearly did a double take. The boy didn’t seem surprised in the least. He smiled gently at Shuichi. It was different from the manic, gaping grin that he had displayed the night before. It was warm and soft instead of cold and cutting. Shuichi said nothing. He could only stare in awe. Furthermore, what even was there to say?

The boy extended his hand, as if he were gesturing for Shuichi to come closer. Shuichi noticed that the boy’s skin didn’t have quite the same reflection as it did previously, no shimmering splotches of scaly textures. He looked more… human, somehow. 

Shuichi pointed to himself as if to say  _ “me?” _ The boy smiled even wider, as if he were delighted at Shuichi’s innocent confusion. The boy turned, looking over his shoulder, and exited the doorframe, leaving the door swinging open.   

Shuichi lurched upward, made sure that nobody was entering the room, and dumped the contents of the vicodin bottle into his hand and stuffed them into the pocket of his shirt. He left a few in the bottle so that it still made a rattling noise if one were to shake it. With shivering movements, he slid off of the hospital bed until he could stand, bare feet touching the wooden floors. His shoes were beside the bed frame, still a bit damp. He gently bent over to put them on, so as not to upset his aching body, his neck in particular. The patients he was sharing a room with were all sleeping. He was still careful moving between the partitions to get his jacket from the hanger by the entrance. 

With uneasy fingers, he opened the door and checked his surroundings. Nobody was coming, but the hallway wasn’t empty. There were a few staff members and a couple of patients in the hallway, but none of them were facing him. If he slid out the door quietly, he could leave without any trouble. Wary of any wandering eyes, he closed the door behind him until he heard a  _ click _ . With one look down the hall, he could see him again. The boy was staring at him. Waiting for him. None of the hospital patrons that passed by him seemed to acknowledge the pale, naked boy just standing in the middle of the hallway. Shuichi took one step, and heard the soles of his shoes squeal. His shoe had smeared a wet spot on the floor. It was then followed by several others, forming a small path. Like footsteps left in linoleum sand, the bright overhead lights making them reflect. 

When he looked back up the boy was gone. 

He threw his jacket’s hood over his head and made a quiet beeline for the entrance to the lobby, where the spots on the floor were leading. 

“Hey.” a male voice behind him called, making Shuichi’s heart jump into his throat. It must have been one of the staff. He forced himself to keep walking, hoping the man would give up, thinking that he had gone unheard.

“Hey!” The voice called again. “You’re not supposed to be out of your room, what are you doing?”

That tore it. Shuichi broke into a sprint down the hall. He heard the sound of papers dropping and scattering and the steady beat of footsteps matching his own. 

“Stop him!” The staff member called. “He’s badly hurt!” 

Seeing the faces in the hallway look in his direction as he ran turn toward them didn’t help his already panicking brain. He stumbled around a corner hoping to lose the man that he felt chasing close behind him. In rounding the corner, he turned a bit too hard, putting strain on his neck. If he cried out, it would only draw attention, so he swallowed it down. It didn’t stop his eyes from filling up with tears. 

Eventually he came to an intersection in the hallway. Just past it was a cluster of wheelchairs on standby outside one of the rooms, along with a large, glass cabinet full of plaques and certificates, likely earned by the hospital over the course of several years. 

He saw him. The boy was running through the hall at a relaxed pace. His feet left trails of water as his feet hit the floor. Nobody seemed to acknowledge him. Shuichi flew past a confused looking family with a daughter who was hooked up to an IV, and he could hear the breathing of his pursuer behind him.

Suddenly, Shuichi felt a strange wind on his back. It was followed by an ear-splitting  _ crash _ , as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to a window. He ventured a look behind him and saw that the glass cabinet had fallen in the middle of the hallway, shards scattered across the floor. The male attendant cursed, stopping dead in his tracks. If it had fallen even a second earlier, Shuichi would certainly have been crushed under the cabinet.

He hadn’t done anything to aggravate it. It had tipped over seemingly on its own.  

“Sorry!” Regardless, it would buy him some time. 

He flew through the lobby, startling patrons and upsetting the staff, realizing full well that he had long lost sight of the mysterious boy. It no longer mattered. All that mattered was escaping the clinic. His face was hot. The pain in his neck was growing too great to ignore. The vicodin he had taken either hadn’t been enough or had been negated by all of the strain he had just put his body through. But he kept running. Giving in was no longer an option. 

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite explain. It was as if he could feel the essence of the strange boy crawling under his skin, speaking to him.

_ Run. _

_ Follow me. _

_ Come to me.  _

He flung the doors open and ran outside, not even stopping for breath. Not even when he noticed that rain was coming down in sheets.     

He kept running. 

Past the small parking lot, past the sign, the whole 9 yards. 

He kept running. 

His vision was clouded with rain. 

 

\--

 

He had no idea where he was. He had no idea how long it had been since he left the clinic. He recognized that he was in a smaller neighborhood, one with fewer and fewer houses the further he ran. At this point his pace had somewhat deteriorated into something of a slow, limping jog. Shuichi still hadn’t tended to the stinging in his neck, which had gotten so bad that it was now eliciting violent sobs. He needed to stop. He needed to rest. But he didn’t want to. He was experiencing some kind of twisted, masochistic runner’s high. The pain almost felt good. 

At last, he could see that the dirt road he had been traveling on had come to a dead end and his movements halted to a stop. He had long been soaked through his clothes due to the downpour. Fortunately he had a covered area in his sights. 

One of Kiwasetsu’s minor claims to fame was the historic Shinto shrine that stood on the edge of a cliff, with a fantastic view of the ocean. The small shrine was an extremely old Kamakura-era structure, but it was very clean and well kept, with little evidence of patina or age. It was fenced in with wicker rope and had covered stairs leading up to it. Shuichi seated himself on the steps of the shrine and yanked another vicodin out of his front pocket. It was only when he stopped moving that he noticed how bad the stinging had gotten. His hands were shaking horribly, and if one were to look at his face they wouldn’t know the difference between tears and rain streaking down his cheeks. He swallowed the pill and put his head back against the wooden post he was sat in front of, holding up the canopy’s foundation.

Why did he run?

He could have just stayed at the clinic and waited for the pain to taper off. But he didn’t. He had to follow some idiotic calling from a force he didn’t fully understand. The mere thought of how he could be so stupid was enough for him to slam his fist against the wooden forms of the stairs in frustration. And where had it gotten him? In pain, sitting shivering by himself at an empty shrine, with no car, no cell phone, and no idea how to get back to Iruma's shop. Only a pocketful of of stolen painkillers. 

He closed his eyes in defeat.  _ Now would be a great time for one really helpful deus ex machina _ . 

“Sir?”

He opened them again. There was someone crouched in front of him, with a worried expression on their face. It was a girl who looked to be a few years older than himself. She had a strange, almost boyishly broad frame for a girl despite being quite thin, and long, dark hair with a greenish tint that fell like soft seaweed. She wore what appeared to be a long, yellow dress underneath a green rain jacket and bright red lipstick. She seemed overdressed for visiting a shrine.

“Sir, are you well? I didn’t see you come in.”

Shuichi groaned. “I’m not.”

“Whatever happened?” 

He decided against telling the woman the full story. He must have been quite the picture already, pale, tired, crying, and covered in bandages. “I was recently in a car accident and I hurt my neck. I’m in a lot of pain.”

The girl put a hand over her mouth. “That’s terrible… Well, as much as Manami prides itself on allowing all walks of life to pray for good health, you should visit the clinic down the road. I’m sure they could help you.” 

“I just came from there. I don’t want to go back…” Shuichi said. “I was… kind of running away?”

“Why were you running away?”

“I’m not sure… I just felt like I had to. Like it wasn't where I was supposed to be.” Shuichi sighed. “Maybe it was just a bout of temporary insanity or something like that. Now I’m here, with no idea how to get home, and I can’t go back to the clinic...”

The girl sat down next to him, setting down the pushbroom she was holding, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. “Well, you’re not running hot, at least. You poor thing. You’re not a resident, are you?” 

“I’m visiting from out of town. I’m from Nakameguro, in Tokyo.” 

The girl smiled. “So you’re the detective.”

Shuichi looked at her. “It was that obvious?”

“News travels fast in a town as small as this,” she said. “My name is Hanae Shinguji. I’m a keeper of Manami Shrine. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Shuichi Saihara. Do you manage this place all by yourself?”

“Well, my younger brother and I both tend to it. The shrine is something of an heirloom,” said Shinguji. “We were the only people in our family willing to stay in Kiwasetsu to take care of it. Sometimes I think about leaving, but… the thought of leaving this place in the hands of someone else frightens me to no end.” She giggled. “Silly how I could become so attached to something like this. Places of worship are the very height of justified human materialism.”

Shuichi felt the pain in his neck had begun to subside a little. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the distraction of talking to someone else. He wasn’t sure. “I don’t think it’s silly. You’ve done quite the job keeping this place in shape-- ah.” He felt another sharp twinge. "My neck. It's starting to hurt again."

Shuichi noticed that Shinguji was looking at him strangely. “May I see?” she asked. “The bruise on your neck.”

Shuichi thought this was a bit of an odd request, but this was also an odd situation. “Sure…?” He craned his neck slightly and lifted his hair so a clear view was possible, wincing in slight discomfort. If he remembered correctly, it wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. It looked like a crude, purple, wine glass stain birthmark. Shinguji inspected the bruise before drawing back. 

“It’s almost as if you’ve been… marked by something.”

“What?”

“Or someone,” Shinguji contemplated. “It gives off a very… negative energy.”

“...Well, it _does_ hurt.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “It’s as if… how do I put this… it feels like a tether to something else. Something far more powerful than one could even fathom. Something dark. Something dangerous.”

Shuichi just stared at Shinguji. He genuinely couldn’t tell if she was joking. She just laughed. “I’m sorry… what am I saying? I’m not…” her face suddenly turned serious. “Nevermind.”

“Is everything ok?” Shuichi asked. 

“Yes, I… I think so,” Shinguji mumbled. “Local myth playing tricks on me. That’s the reason people who live by the ocean leave food out at night, you know.”

Shuichi perked up. “What kind of local myth?”

“Kiwasetsu’s ghost. Some say it’s the spirit of one of the boys who were killed in town. Some say it’s something else entirely, like a high school student who killed themself or something of that ilk. Korekiyo was always so interested in that sort of thing, he knows much more about it than I…” she trailed off. “Perhaps it’s only my superstitious nature getting the best of me. You can only look after a sacred landmark for so long before you begin to believe the lore surrounding it. Personally… I don’t even think it exists...”

"Why don't you?"

Shinguji smiled. "I thought detectives were supposed to err on the side of logic," she said. "I should be asking why you're so interested. Saihara-san, where are you staying right now?"

“The space above Iruma-san’s garage. Why?”

“Yes, I know where that is.” Shinguji put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me at least take you there. It worries me to think about you wandering the streets alone and in pain. It’s only about a five minute drive from here.”

“Oh,” Shuichi said. “I-I don’t want to impose or anything--”

“Nonsense. Come, let’s get you home.”

 

\--

 

The drive to Iruma’s shop was short and silent. Shuichi was grateful that he wouldn’t have to spend lord knows how long wandering the streets of Kiwasetsu in the rain trying to find it. Once they pulled up, Shuichi stepped out of the car.

“Thank you, Shinguji-san.”

Shinguji nodded. “Saihara-san… may I ask something of you?”

“What is it?”

“If that bruise on your neck doesn’t begin to clear after a week,” she said, “please come see me about it.”

It was a strange plea, but Shuichi decided to comply. Shinguji seemed like an intelligent woman, and he liked to believe he wasn’t just humoring her. “I will. Thank you, Shinguji-san.”

He wasted no time watching her drive off. He needed to get inside. He needed to lay down. He was beginning to feel loopy from the effects of the painkillers. At least he was mostly numb to the pain in his neck, but he didn’t exactly want to stick around outside and wait for it to come back. 

Iruma wasn’t in the shop. Shuichi had lost his keys in the accident. Shuichi tried the door anyway. Much to his surprise, it was unlocked. He was immediately blasted with the central heating, and a wave of relief washed over him as he went to take off his shoes. Walking into a house with a heating system after what he had just been through was a feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. He already felt somewhat revived. He could almost feel the hot downpour of the shower, the stinging sound of the lights, see the steam of the kettle on the stove, feel the soft crinkle of clean sheets…

 

Then he stepped in something. Something wet and cold, soaking through his sock. Shuichi looked down to see a wet spot on the floor. 

He took a step up the stairs to his room. There was another on one of the steps. 

Standing on the stairs in the silent shop, Shuichi felt an inexplicable pang of fear. Slowly, he climbed the stairs and went to open the door to his room, before discovering it was already open. There was yellow light spilling into the hallway from the room. 

Upon entering, Shuichi could not enjoy the familiarity of his room, not the light, not the warmth, not the comfort. Especially not the warmth. The room was ice-cold, possibly colder even than outside. Puddles of water on the floor reflected the light in the kitchen. But there was something else. 

There was a sound coming from the bedroom that sounded vaguely like singing. No, not quite singing… humming. Someone was humming from inside the bedroom. 

There was someone else in the space. Someone who was humming the melody to  _ Clair de Lune  _ by Debussy.       

 Warily, Shuichi opened the knife drawer and pulled out a cleaver. Then slowly, he stepped through the door frame separating the kitchen and the bedroom. 

 

Standing with his back to him in front of his dresser drawer, all Shuichi needed to see was the snow white skin, tiny stature, and purple hair.

 

The boy was opening Shuichi’s dresser drawers, inspecting garments as he pulled them out. He held one of Shuichi’s sweaters out at arm’s length, as if he were considering wearing it, then put it on, merrilly humming the melancholy song. He snapped a pair of boxer briefs over his hips, a pair that Shuichi had accidentally shrunk in Iruma’s washing machine. 

Shuichi wandered toward the boy, cleaver in hand. Hurting him wasn’t his intention, but maybe if he could prove that he wasn’t going to put up with any of the boy’s nonsense--

The boy grumbled, interrupting the flow of the song. “Tops can work if they’re too big, but pants are just a problem. Don’t you have anything a bit more form-fitting?”

Shuichi stopped dead in his tracks. The boy turned around to look him in the eye. He was smiling, that same, devilish smile that had choked him out not twelve hours prior. 

 

“Took you long enough, Mr. Detective.”

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about giving this chapter an alternate ending in which Shuichi just shouts "someone just left an ice cube on the floor and now my sock is wet WHO THE FUCK WANNA DIE--"  
> And for anyone wondering, I chose the name "Hanae" for Korekiyo's sister because "Hana" can mean "one love" when written as 一愛. I thought it seemed appropriate.
> 
> Ok I'm gonna go blow my brains out into some kleenex because I'm really really sick and was probably pretty delirious when I wrote this chapter. Editing's gonna be fun.


	3. Staggered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He speaks.  
> Get ready for a shit-ton of dialogue, cuz that's pretty much all this chapter's gonna be.

“What? Say something.”

 

Shuichi held up the cleaver defensively. “What are you doing here?”

The boy laughed. “Ok, wow. First of all, you’re the one who followed  _ me _ here, remember? I didn’t force you to leave the hospital. You made that choice on your own, Saihara-chan. Are you really in a position to be pointing a knife at  _ me _ ?” 

A chill ran up Shuichi’s spine. “How do you know my name?”

“People like me know a lot more than people like you would think.” The boy continued to hum, opening more of Shuichi’s drawers. “I like that song. You remember it, don’t you? It was on the radio last night around the time you almost ran me over with your car.”

Shuichi smacked himself in the face with the palm of his hand. The boy looked concerned. “Um… why are you...”

“Because I’m hallucinating. Clearly.”

The boy almost looked offended. “Excuse me?”

“Tengan was right, I-I must have hit my head on the dashboard when I went off the road,” Shuichi stammered. “Or--or-- no! I just took a ton of opioids! That’s right! I must have had a bad reaction to them!”

“Oh, you mean the ones that you  _ stole _ ?” 

“See? You just proved my point!” Shuichi said, manically. “How else would you know that? How else would you know my name? This… this isn’t real. You’re not real. You’re just some kind of fever dream.”

“You think that I’m not real.” The boy smirked. “So why are you still pointing that thing at me?”

“No. No. Stay away from me.”

“Do you want to kill me?” The boy asked.

“N-no, I--” Shuichi stuttered.

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Hurt me in any way? Cut up my arms and toss me into the street? Hm? Is that any way to treat the person that saved your life?”

“I…what?”

The boy giggled. “Ni-shi-shi... Not that it would really make a difference, Saihara-chan. It’s not like you could do anything to me with that tiny little butcher knife.” He placed his hands on Shuichi’s, still gripping the cleaver. The boy’s hands were ice-cold. “But if you’re threatening me with a sharp object with no intention to kill… it’s not even a weapon, is it? You might as well be waving a turnip in my face.” The boy raised Shuichi’s hands so that the cleaver was poised above him.

“Now this,” he said, “this is how you use a knife.”

The boy brought the cleaver right down on his own skull. It happened too fast for Shuichi to react. One moment the boy’s face was as clean and white as porcelain, the next it was spattered with blood with a hearty  _ thunk _ . The same blood falling onto Shuichi’s own clothes. The same blood staining the cleaver stuck in the boy’s head. Horrified, Shuichi staggered backward and fell, but he still scrambled to get away from the boy as quickly as possible, who was swaying in place.

The boy’s eyes had become vacant. The eyes that were left, anyway. His left eyeball had burst open at the edge from the head trauma, giving some sort of ballpark estimate as to how deeply the cleaver was buried. But blood was spilling out of both of them, wetting his cheeks and lips with a red sheen. The lopsided eyes finally lolled backward as the boy staggered, and finally collapsed onto the floor in a bloody heap. 

Silence. 

Shuichi was practically holding onto the wall for dear life. He was sure the color had drained from his face. He felt the bile rising in his stomach, but clapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to choke it down. It was a fairly rational reaction, or so he assumed, to watching an intruder in his quarters suddenly kill themselves with a butcher a knife.

For seemingly no reason at all, other than to prove a point. Which point that was, Shuichi wasn’t sure. 

The longer he looked at it, the more panic came over him. The more the gravitas of the situation began to sink in. The bigger the pool of blood grew around the boy’s head. His eyes began to sting with tears. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, curling himself into a ball. “No. No… It’s not real…” he choked. “It’s not real… It’s not real...” 

He opened them again, venturing a glance. The body was still there. Still limp and immobile. 

Carefully, he eased himself off the the ground, the spatters of blood on the hardwood floor warm on the bottom of his feet. There was really nothing to inspect, looking at the boy’s face, hair stuck to his cheeks, empty eyes staring off into space, matted with blood from chest to forehead. He was completely still. 

There was no debate to be had. Nobody could survive that. 

He knew nothing about this boy. Even less why he had just done what he did. But this was no time to be confused. Perhaps he could check the pockets of the boy for a cell phone, and he could call someone and tell them what had happened. He then realized that it was a stupid idea, since the boy had been completely naked upon entering the apartment, thereby having no pockets to hold a phone or wallet. But even getting close to the body made him woozy. Especially what with the fact that the cleaver was still lodged in the boy’s skull. 

He touched the tip of the cleaver’s handle, wondering if there was some way he could pull it out. But just the thought of prying it from the skull while it was in so deeply made him sick to his stomach. 

As he was contemplating, the boy’s eyes lit back up, staring right at Shuichi, and his lips twisted into a grin. “BOO!”

Shuichi screamed, propelling himself backward and up against the wall. The boy was laughing hysterically, as if this little traumatizing ordeal had been nothing more than a fun, practical joke. He was holding his sides and laughing like a little kid. 

“I was just kidding!” he chortled. “It was a lie! Did you think that I was dead?”

Shuichi was speechless. The boy was reacting as if he had put a rubber band on the spray nozzle of a sink instead of splitting his own head open with a meat cleaver. 

“Ah… you should have seen the look on your face, Saihara-chan.” The boy grasped the handle of the knife and, with a bit of effort, yanked it free, wiping the blood off of it onto his bare leg. “Well, I guess I’ve ruined your sweater, haven’t I? I actually haven’t worn clothes in a while. I’ve forgotten how itchy they are.” He flipped the the knife around so that he offered the handle to Shuichi.  “What? It’s not gonna bite you.”

Shuichi didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t want to.  

The boy laughed. “I’m fine. See? Right as rain, doesn’t even hurt. Besides, Mr. Detective…” A thin layer of green rust began running up the surface of the knife, seemingly springing from the boy’s fingers, until it was covered in its entirety. He gripped it harder, and a thin crack appeared in the center. “It’s not like you can kill something that’s already dead. You know that.”

Shuichi suddenly felt very, very faint. It was beyond unsettling watching the boy behave so jovially with a ruptured eyeball that was still leaking. He stumbled forward a bit, before falling to his knees, bringing him face to face with the floor smeared with red. The stench alone triggered his gag reflex, making him hack into the floor. He tried to pull himself back up, but he slipped on the slick surface. He could hear nothing but the rain hitting the roof outside. He tried to focus on it. Eventually he was able to pull himself up and look the strange, not quite dead boy in the face. He was smiling, as if Shuichi’s reaction was exactly what he had been waiting for. 

Shuichi was able to say it with some confidence, despite the strain. “Quid pro quo.”

“Hm?”

If this was a hallucination, he might as well indulge in it. If he did, his thinking was that he might be able to trace it back to the root. 

“You know who I am, you’ve had your fun, it’s my turn. Now tell me who you are. That’s only fair.”

“I thought you didn’t even think I was real. What does it matter?”

“I don’t know what to think right now. I just want to know why this is happening to me. Why…  _ you _ are happening to me.”   

The boy sighed, stood up, and somberly dusted himself off. “Well if you’re gonna keep bugging me about it, I guess I don’t have much of a choice. My… it’s been so long since someone’s been able to talk to me that I… I can’t even remember my own name.”

“Stop it,” Shuichi said.

The boy perked right back up. “Wow, you’re really good at this, Saihara-chan! Yup, that’s another lie. My name is Kokichi Ouma. Kiwasetsu born and bred.”

“Ok.” Shuichi was able to choose his words a bit more rationally now. “How do you know  _ my _ name?”

“With my mystical, psychic prowess, of course!” Ouma waved his hands theatrically. “Specifically, an ability called ‘Going Through Your Wallet.’”

He  _ had  _ left his wallet in his room. Thank God. That would have been a pain to lose along with his phone.  

“When you said that ‘you can’t kill something that’s already dead…’ what did you mean?” He shook his head. “No, I suppose what I mean to ask is… what are you, exactly? It isn’t possible for anyone to survive that deep of a head wound. Was it some kind of trick?”

Ouma just looked at Shuichi. Then he thought for a moment. “You might wanna sit down,” he said. “Actually, I could put on some tea, if you want. Did you know that chamomile relaxes the muscles? It could help with your issue with your neck.”

“Do you mean the pain that  _ you _ inflicted on me?” Shuichi spat. “When you strangled me?” 

Ouma shrugged. “Potay-to, Potah-to. I should probably wash my face, huh? I must be quite the picture.”

Shuichi plopped down on his bed. He didn’t respond. Ouma hovered back over him. “Aaww… are you mad at me? I’m sooorry…. I didn’t mean to scare you. Maybe you just need to loosen up a little bit. I mean, the question has to be asked, Saihara-chan...” Ouma swabbed a bit of blood from his forehead, smeared it into a comically wide line starting from one ear and ending at the next across his lips, and grinned. “WHY SO SERIOUS--”

Shuichi chucked a throw pillow at him.

 

\--

 

One kettle of boiling water and a face wash later (Shuichi spent that time reluctantly mopping blood up off of the floor, regardless of how sick it made him, since Iruma would throw a fit if he let it mess up the floorboards, or if she just found blood on the floor probably). Ouma was sitting across from Shuichi, holding a cup of tea in front of his face. Shuichi was trying to give himself as much distance as possible from Ouma, but he accepted the drink. He was happy to have it, as he was still shivering a bit in the chilled room. He was also glad that he made Ouma bandage up his bad eye regardless of how much he insisted it didn’t hurt. “You’re not having any?”

“No.” Ouma stretched his back out. He was still wearing the sweater that he had ruined by drenching it in blood, most of which had dried and turned brown, beginning to flake off of the fabric. “I don’t like hot drinks. In fact, it isn’t really safe for me to have anything that’s too hot. Warm temperatures burn me out so fast.”

“Is that why it’s so cold in here?”

“May~be,” Ouma chided. “It’s ok. I don’t really need to eat or drink anything anyway. Only thing that didn’t hurt to let go of, really. I had a couple of pretty nasty bouts with an eating disorder back in the day, which I definitely do not miss. Not having to eat, never being hungry, never feeling bloated… it’s like a dream. It’s so many things that I don’t have to worry about anymore.”

“What do you mean ‘let go of’?” Shuichi asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like. I had to give up the habits of the living in exchange for… well, other things,” Ouma said wistfully. “But you know something weird? I never thought that I would miss breathing as much as I do. Or the feeling of blood pumping through my veins. When that all goes away, your body becomes so eerily quiet. It’s like when the furnace suddenly turns off in a room. You don’t notice it’s on until it’s not, and once you do, there’s this unsettling silence that follows after it.” 

“When you say the habits of the living…” Shuichi began.

“Ah ah ah, stop right there.” Ouma silenced him. “This isn’t going to work if I don’t hear your end. Communication has to go both ways. I want to make sure I cover everything. What do you remember from last night?”

Shuichi stared at the bag floating in his tea. “I was out driving on the outskirts last night. Nowhere in particular, I just couldn’t sleep. Then I saw you standing in the road and I swerved to avoid you and my car went over the cliff…” Shuichi’s head hurt just remembering the experience. “I was in the water… trying to get the seatbelt undone and I must have blacked out. When I came to again, I was back on the rocks, my car was gone… and you were there. Maybe it wasn’t you, but someone or something that looked like you.”

“The boy in the road and the creature in the tidepools,” Ouma said. “Are both Kokichi Ouma and not Kokichi Ouma. Those two are more like… extensions of myself. I belong to the sea, primarily.”

“Is this the bit where you tell me why that is?”

Ouma hesitated. “There’s really… no way to phrase this without it sounding totally absurd. I didn’t really choose someone that’s very open-minded to this kind of thing.”  
“What are you, Ouma-kun?”

“I’m someone who died in Kiwasetsu.” Ouma said. “I’m a little bit of a local celebrity, maybe you’ve heard of me. The Kiwasetsu poltergeist, who steals food off of front porches, scares the occasional cat, and lures people into the ocean to their deaths or whatever.”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. How utterly barbaric.” Ouma drew his knees closer to himself. “If you’re talking about what brought  _ you _ here to Kiwasetsu, it’s got nothing to do with me. And I’ve mentioned that I don’t eat, right? So I usually just dump the food that people leave out into a bush or something. Gives the raccoons a field day and the people who try to feed me something to smile about. Especially that creepy guy at the shrine. But then, I can never tell when he’s smiling. I don’t think anyone can.”

Humor it. Go with it. All will be made clear eventually. 

Shuichi took a sip of his tea, remembering Iruma putting peas and chopped carrots on her porch the night before. The night of the accident. “Shouldn’t you be hanging around… I don’t know, Kiwasetsu High instead of the freeway? What grounds a place as fit for someone dead to just hang around?”

Ouma scrunched up his face. “Why in the world would I go to the high school? I hate that place.”

“It just seemed like a more appropriate place for a high school student to, ah,” Shuichi scoffed. “Haunt? But I guess that kind of sounds like it would be more out of a manga.”

Ouma was incredulous. “High school student? You thought that I was in  _ high school _ ? I’m 19.”

Shuichi sputtered on his tea. “I-I mean--” The petite stature of the boy coupled with his childish nature had certainly thrown him off. “You’re 19?”

“Well, I  _ was _ . It happened a week after my 19th birthday.”

“What did?”

Ouma cackled, poising his fingers like claws. “THE  _ INCIDENT _ ,” he said. “When I died. No… when I was killed.”

Shuichi leaned in. “Tell me about it.”

“No~!” Ouma sang. “I don’t think so.” He leaned forward and touched Saihara’s nose with his index finger. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” He raised the pitch of his voice. “Privacy is important to a girl. All’s I’ll tell you is that my body ended up in the ocean.”

The sudden closeness made Shuichi uncomfortable. “You said you would help me to understand what you are.”

“And?”

“I can’t do that if you keep secrets from me.”

“Ah, but this is still terribly useful information, isn’t it Saihara-chan?” Ouma brushed a hand across Shuichi’s face. “It’s impossible to lie to and keep secrets from yourself. That’s the only person you can never hide from. So consider this a human moment from me. I hope that it helps me become more real to you. You’re still not convinced, are you?”

Shuichi brushed Ouma’s hand away. “I think that your very existence is a lie.” 

“You’re so cruel, Shuichi Saihara.” Ouma curled his fingers around Shuichi’s wrist. “I like that in a man. But I have other ways of proving myself. Listen.” His eyes wandered upward. “Do you hear that? The rain has stopped.” It was true. The dull pattering on the roof had vanished. “I want to go up to the roof. Will you take me up to the roof?”

Shuichi did know a way to get up to the roof. There was a hatch in the attic. He set his tea down on his bedside table, easing himself back onto his pillow. “I shouldn’t. I need to rest.”

“Aaaw, does your neck still hurt? I could kiss it better.”  
“Please get away from me.”

Ouma drew away and flopped onto his back. “How boring. I guess Saihara-chan would rather waste away in his musty old apartment because of some neck pains rather than feel like a little kid again,” he said. “Almost 21 and already so jaded. These are supposed to be the best years of your life.”  
“How do you know I’m--”

“With my mystical powers of--”

Shuichi groaned. “Looking at my driver’s license,” he finished. 

“I was actually going to say ‘finding a dated polaroid of you getting plastered on your 20th,’ but yeah, that too,” Ouma said. “Saihara-chan, come on. It smells so nice after it rains. You can see the town on one side and the ocean on the other.”

“I said no. I’m tired.”

“I never got to live to be your age,” Ouma continued. “And I’m never going to be able to. It makes me sad watching you squander what I can’t have.”

“Which is?”

“Elderly youthfulness. Climbing to high places and being on top of the world with a cute boy. Having the freedom to do so. I always wanted to do things like that. Normal things. Now they can’t even be sad memories.”

“If I take you up to the roof,” Shuichi said, “Will you at least tell me why you’re tormenting me like this?”

Ouma groaned. “I gu-ess.”

 

\--

 

It was still cloudy when they opened the attic’s hatch onto the roof. It smelled like rain, and the air was still misty and humid. THe sound of the ocean waves was no longer muffled, but unfiltered. 

Ouma immediately hopped onto the roof tiles, skipping and dancing about great abandon. “Careful, Saihara! It’s slippery!”

One foot in front of the other. 

Shuichi stepped out of the hatch and almost immediately slipped and fell. He held onto the sides for dear life. His clothes were getting wet again. Ouma laughed at his clumsy movements. “Ok,” he giggled. “We can sit.” 

The two took seats next to each other. The dampness of the roof was uncomfortable to sit on. Shuichi could feel the tingling creeping back up his neck. The painkillers were already starting to wear off. 

“So, Ouma-ku--”

“Ssshh.”

Ouma was smiling gently, eyes closed, hair blowing in the slow, briny breeze. He looked peaceful. One last little trickle of blood down his forehead sort of took away from the whole picture. Ouma wiped it away without looking.

“Saihara-chan,” he started. “I have a confession. I did something bad.”

“I can’t possibly imagine what it could be.”

“Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, dearest,” Ouma said. He stood back up so that he looked down at Shuichi. “I chose you.”

Shuichi just stared at him.

Ouma continued. “Every once in a while, if I lay low for long enough, I can create a special bond with someone who still exists in the living world. I’ve never done it before, but I’ve always known it was possible.” He tried balancing on the high point of the roof, nearly slipping. “I’ve been wanting to come back to Kiwasetsu properly for a while now.” 

“I thought you already did. You said you threw people’s food out.”

“True, but I can’t go too far from the ocean. ‘Cos that’s where my body is.” Ouma looked behind him. “I was born in this town. I know everyone in it. I have friends here. Amami-chan who I went to school with, Iruma-chan who taught me how to fix my bike, Chabashira-chan who ran the dojo… I still think of them all as my friends. It’s been so long, they probably don’t even remember me.”

“So why do you need me?”

Ouma smiled sadly. “Because I want to watch them grow old. I want to watch this town grow old. I’m not ready to let go of it yet. So I needed someone that I could hold onto. And I picked you, Saihara-chan.”

Shuichi put a hand on the bruise on his neck. “Me..?”

“I’ve had my eye on you for a long time.” Ouma knelt down next to him with cat-like agility. He grabbed Shuichi’s face. “So let me issue you an ultimatum. I want to help you, Mr. Detective.”

“H-hey! Let go of me!”

Ouma was so close that Shuichi could feel his breath on his own lips. “You know you could use me, right? There’s nobody who knows more about this place more than me. I can see things that nobody else does.”

Shuichi yanked his face away. “It would be much more helpful if you just left me alone. I can assure you I would be able to focus much better without you reminding me that I’m slowly losing my mind.”

“What do I need to do to convince you that I’m not just the inner workings of your troubled mind?” Ouma taunted. “What do I need to do?”

“Wait.” Shuichi stopped. “Ultimatum? What happens if I don’t want you to help me?”

Ouma grinned. “Well, then I get to keep pestering you anyway, except you  _ don’t _ get my incredibly profound insight as apart of the package! Doesn’t that just sound terrible?”

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re so interested in somebody like me, and I appreciate your concern, but this case is something I need to do on my own. It’s not that a partner wouldn’t be nice, it’s just hard to trust someone who can put a knife through their head and then instantly come back from the dead.”

“But you  _ can _ trust me. Nobody here knows you better than me.”

“I don’t even know what that means. Why did you have to do this to me?” Shuchi said desperately. “Whether you’re real or not, why couldn’t you have just let me alone? Finding the culprit of a murder is plenty emotional, not to mention exhausting without you barging into my life and making it more complicated.”

“Would you rather be dead?” Ouma shot back.

“...What?”

Ouma’s expression suddenly turned dire. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Was I supposed to watch? Watch as your rinky dink little car sank into the ocean? Watch you suffocate? Watch your chest burst from the pressure of the water?”

“If you have something to say, just say it, Ouma-kun.”

“I’ve already said it. I saved your life,” Ouma said. “Do you really think that you pulled yourself out of that car? Do you think you just forgot? Who do you think pulled you out and onto the jetty.”

Shuichi was about to spit out a retort, but he stopped halfway. 

It made sense. 

No. It couldn’t.

Because if it was true, then Ouma’s existence was…

“No.” Shuichi snapped. “You aren’t… you’re not…”

“What? Say it.” Ouma cooed. “I’m not what?”

Shuichi swallowed. “You’re not--”

“THERE YOU FUCKING ARE!”

Shuichi whirled around to see who had screamed at him from below. Miu Iruma was standing in the street yelling at him outside of her parked car. “What the hell? I’ve been turning the town upside down looking for you, you son of a fuck!”

“Iruma-san! Wh-what are you doing here?”

“This is  _ my _ house! And that’s my line, bitch!” she yelled. “More importantly, why weren’t you at the clinic?”

  
“The clinic? How did you hear about--”

“They had me down as your emergency contact, you fucking ding-dong!" Iruma was absolutely irate. "The assholes at the hospital flipped their shit and called me when you left! And now you’re on the roof!?”

Shuichi turned back to Ouma. Surprisingly enough, he had vanished. 

He knew he should have felt some form of relief now that he was gone. But in fact, he felt quite the opposite. His stomach turned thinking about how this likely wasn’t the last he would see of the strange boy. Like the the absence of him would be spent wondering about his return. He was already asking himself how long it would last.

The boy, for whom he now had reasonable evidence the he had saved Shuichi's life. He felt indebted to someone who didn't even exist, owing favor to a fever dream.

But it wouldn't be insane if it wasn't all a dream. Would it?

He wouldn't be crazy for entertaining the idea. Would he?

"Hey! Earth to Shit-hara! Helloooo? I'm not done being mad!"

Shuichi looked to his left. The town. Then to his right. The sea. The churning, grey waves seemed almost like a catalyst, for what he wasn't sure. The water was the same color of his skin, pale and lifeless. And in a way, it had the same, alluring pull.

The same, intimidating sense of staring into the abyss. 

Shuichi ran his hand over the bruise on his neck, pressing on it to feel a prickle of pain.

 

"Who are you?" he whispered.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I've got a question.  
> If I were to do some sketches and drawings of some of the characters in this fic as I've imagined them in this AU, is that something that anyone would be interested in? I've been thinking about it for a while, and there's a chance I might even do a couple of full-blown illustrations or character sheets if enough people like the idea. So if you'd be into that, let me know.  
> (Also if anyone is even remotely interested, my art account url is boring-blue-boy.tumblr.com (sorry not sorry for the plug I am a t h i r s t y b i t c h .))


	4. Barter

“You  _ drove your car off of a cliff _ ?” 

Although Iruma was not older than himself by much, Shuichi suddenly felt that this situation was becoming very reminiscent of being scolded by his mother. Except in this instance he was staring at the floor of an oily garage that stank of turpentine while being yelled at by the buxom owner. “What did I tell you, huh? I told you to be careful, didn’t I? And what did you do?”

“I wasn’t… careful? Iruma-san, are you mad at me? What do you want me to say?”

“I’m not mad! I’m… I’m disgruntled!”

“Please stop yelling at me...”

“Do you know how bad it’s going to look!?” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air as if she was praying a little too enthusiastically. “Do you know how bad it would look if the only person in this place’s rental history straight up fucking died? I need the extra income! It’s bad enough that that greedy bastard Idabashi won’t cough up a grant for my own projects!” She jabbed a finger in his face. “And now you’re exploiting my side-hustle!? Huh? Are you!?” 

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Shuichi asked.

“No! I mean, yes! I mean--” Iruma clenched her fists, drawing in a sharp inhale, and let it out through her mouth. “Forget it,” she said through clenched teeth. “So… I’m assuming you lost your car.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s gone. I lost everything in it, too.”

Iruma eyed him incredulously. “How the fuck did you get out of that? The water off the highway jetties is pretty damn deep.”

“I rolled down the window and climbed out of it,” Shuichi lied. “It’s something that I was taught in crisis training. I was able to get out before it sank too deeply.”

“Wasn’t it that one annoying guy that found you? Tidepool Man? Mo-moron?” 

“I… wouldn’t know. Someone found me, but I--”

“Wait, hold up.” Miu suddenly smiled. Shuichi noticed that she was looking at him from an odd angle. “Ho-lee shit.”

“...What?” 

“Is that a fucking hickey on your neck?” She exclaimed.

Shuichi’s face suddenly got very hot. “A--”

“Woah! Getting action from _ hot nurses _ ? After a freak accident, too? You don’t waste any time! Crime dramas don’t lie, big city boys are studly fucking horndogs!” Her voice dipped dreamily. “I’m almost a little insulted that you never put forth any of those masculine wiles with  _ me _ . We’re friends, aren’t we, Shit-hara? I want  _ you _ to tie me up with bandages and take my pulse...”

“I-Iruma-san, this isn’t a--!”

“I’m just screwing you around, Jesus!” Iruma laughed. “But you’ve gotta introduce me to your steamy medical fuckbuddies sometime. You might wanna get a scarf to cover that thing up, though. It looks kinda unprofessional.”

“I twisted my neck during the accident!” Shuichi shouted, a bit bashfully. “I’m actually in a lot of pain right now, and I don’t really appreciate you mocking me.”

“O-ok, ok! There’s no need to yell at me!” Iruma squeaked, retreating like a frightened cat. “So why didn’t you stay at the clinic? They could have given you something for it.”

“I don’t know. I should have,” Shuichi said. “But I just panicked. I was delirious. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“No shit you weren’t.” Shuichi heard a faint beeping to the tune of the  _ Doraemon  _ theme song. “Whoops, speak of the devil. I bet that’s them.” Iruma reached into the back pocket of her pants, pulled out a bright pink cell phone and flipped it open. “Miu Iruma, the one and only Gorgeous Girl Genius here. Yeah, hey Tengan.” 

Shuichi’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yup, I just got back to the shop. I really needed to reopen. Did I find him?” Iruma looked at Shuichi, who was making a panicked throat-slitting motion, making a blade out of the tips of his fingers. Iruma didn’t look amused in the slightest. “Yep, he’s here. You wanna talk to him?”

Shuichi didn’t wait around. He made a break for the stairs up to his room. “Hey!” Iruma yelled. “Goddamn it, get back here, you ungrateful slut!”

 

\--

 

“Shuichi Saihara speaking.” Shuichi nursed the area on his arm that Iruma had dug her fingers into in trying to catch him. She was still watching him like a hawk in the kitchen door frame.  

“I’ve been informed  by one of the staff members here at the clinic that you left this morning in a bit of a hurry, and without being formally released, no less,” Tengan said on the other line. “Care to impart a particular reason, Saihara-kun?”

Shuichi had bullshat his way out of this question for long enough. It was true that he wasn’t the best liar, but it was worth a shot.

“I… remembered something.”

“Oh?”

“Something that couldn’t wait,” Shuichi said. “I’ve only been here for a few days, but I’ve been working with Officer Amami on the multiple murders case to which I was assigned. I’m sure you’re aware?”

“I am. How does he play into this scenario?”

“I may have made a promise that I would be beginning interviews today.” Shuichi clenched his fist in his lap. “Before I was able to foresee a car accident, I mean. I remembered, and I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking that promise.”

“I’m sure Amami-kun would have understood if you needed to recover--”

“It wasn’t just about Amami-kun,” Shuichi said. “It was about keeping my word to everyone. As a professional and as someone who came here to help. I came to Kiwasetsu with the intention to solve the case at hand as quickly as possible. For the sake of the people who were killed and the families and friends who were affected. It would kill me if I knew I was letting them suffer in silence even a day longer than they already had to while I just… sat in the hospital.”

There was a pause on the other line.  

“You’re dedicated to your work.”

“I like to think so.” 

Tengan sighed. “Well,  _ my _ intention was to convince you to come back to the clinic and finish recuperating, but it seems as if you’ve already made up your mind. I can sign your release and allow you to recover from home.”

Shuichi lit up. “Really?”

“However,” Tengan said, “I forbid you from leaving Iruma’s establishment for at least another 48 hours. And after that, I’d like you to come in for a checkup.”

Shuichi’s heart sank again. “But--”

“I want you resting. You injured your neck very badly. It may not feel like much, but if you’re not careful you could easily damage it further, this time beyond repair. If you’ve any work to do, do it from home. Absolutely no strenuous physical activity. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Shuichi said reluctantly. 

“Good. Saihara-kun, before I let you off, I have one more thing to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Are you currently taking any medication, or have you previously?”

Shuichi thought it was a rather random question at first, but soon realized why Tengan had asked. He must have found the emptied bottle of vicodin in the bedside drawer. He swallowed. “I… I was on antidepressants for a while. I’m not anymore.”  
“And how long ago did you stop taking them?”

“About four months or so ago.”

“I see,” Tengan said. Was he about to call him out? Stolen medication was, Shuichi imagined, grounds for an arrest all on its own. The silence on the other line was doing no favors for Shuichi’s nerves. “I was only curious. Certain medications can elongate periods of intense pain. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Shuichi’s shoulders sank in relief. Tengan had thrown him a bone. Either that, or Tengan had given him the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed. “Alright. Thank you, Tengan-san.” Tengan hung up.

Shuichi saw Iruma lingering in his doorway, waiting for him to return the phone. “What’d he say?”

Shuichi handed her the phone. “I don’t need to go back. I just need to rest for a couple of days and go back in for an appointment to touch base.”

“Well, you sure got out of that one scott-free.” Iruma sniffed. “Why does it stink in here?”

Shuichi had frantically filled the apartment with the aerosol spray he had found in the bathroom after Iruma had commanded that he get off the roof. The air was pretty thick with chemicals, but it was doing a semi-decent job of masking the smell of blood. He just prayed she wouldn’t look in the bathtub and find the rag he had cleaned it up with.

“I came home hungry and I found out the hard way that the eggs that I had bought from the supermarket yesterday had gone rotten,” he said. “I must have gotten a bad batch. I didn’t notice when I bought it, but I opened it up and it… kind of exploded. The smell, I mean.”

Was he being too obvious? 

“Well, that would explain why it ranks like some window cleaner took a shit on a lemon,” Iruma said. “Open the window, I can barely breathe.” Shuichi could never decide whether or not to be impressed or disgusted by Iruma’s vivid way of describing things. She didn’t seem to suspect. 

Shuichi got up to open it but, as if on cue, a sharp stinging shot up his neck as he bolted upright. He groaned, doubling over from it. 

“Woah, shit!” Iruma said, startled. “You weren’t kidding about your neck, huh? Hey, lay down, ok?” She grabbed his shoulders and eased Shuichi back onto the bed. “You want anything else, big guy? Something to eat?”

“No.” Shuichi lay down slowly. “I think I just need to lay low for a while. But thank you for your concern, Iruma-san.” He noticed that Iruma was leaning over him rather suggestively. 

“Do you need me to take care of you in other ways?” She cackled, her pose accentuating her breasts hanging loosely inside of her oil-stained tank top. “You poor bastard, probably all plugged up, huh~? Probably haven’t been able to take care of yourself since you’ve been a fucking vegetable for the last 12 hours. Gotta keep  _ your  _ vegetable ripe, you pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down?”

“Will you stop doing that?” It came out more aggressively than Shuichi had intended. The pain was making him cranky. 

“Hhhiiiiii!!” Iruma squealed, scrambling away from him defensively. “I-I was just kidding! There’s no need to shout!” She actually looked as if she was about to cry for a moment. “I w-was just tryin’a help is all!”

“No, I’m sorry… I just think I need some time alone, if that’s alright?”

“Y-yeah...ok.” Iruma collected herself and got up to leave. “Um hey, n-not that I care or anything, but, uh…” she struggled to find the right words. “I’m glad that you made it outta that ok. I mean, for what it’s worth. I’ve gotta reopen downstairs, but let me know if you need anything, ok?”

Shuichi smiled. So Iruma  _ was _ worried about him. She just wasn’t that bent on showing it. “That’s very kind of you. But I think I’m good for now.”

“Are you sure? You can’t think of a  _ single  _ thing? Back rub? Foot massage?” 

“Actually,” Shuichi reached into his back pocket. It was still there. “Could you take a look at my phone? It was in my back pocket when I hit the water. I had some notes on the investigation in there that I’d like to refer back to.”

Shuichi handed Miu the phone. She shook it a few times. “Eeesh. Yikes. It’s so waterlogged there’s actually water coming  _ out _ of it. I can play around with it, but no promises.”

“Thank you, Iruma-san.” 

“Heh, what am I saying? I’m Miu fucking Iruma! There ain’t another cunt in the region whose got what I got. I’ll get this outdated baby back up and running in no time.” 

She shut the door to the apartment behind her.   

 

\--

 

Shuichi hadn’t chain smoked in a very long time. He could have taken more vicodin, but something told him that it was probably a bad idea to take too many of them in rapid succession. He needed the relief, but he didn’t want to end up addicted. So he decided to occupy himself the old fashioned way. Smoking as a distraction usually only surfaced when he was depressed. But frustration, confusion, aches and pains, mixed with a little bit of boredom was an airtight concoction for falling back in. He had used to joke with Kaede that he was “in an abusive relationship and her name is Mevius.” She hadn’t found it very funny.  

He had spent the remainder of the day before reviewing all of his notes for the case, unsavory crime scene pictures and all. He hadn’t left the building as per Tengan’s request, and he was trying to take as few painkillers as possible. Which took a surprising amount of self-control, since he would regularly go through intervals where his cigarette would shake in his fingers while tears fell from his eyes. He had needed the rest after all. 

What was somewhat unsettling was the fact that he had not seen hide nor hair of the purple haired bloodletter for nearly two days. And it had been an eerily long period of time since anything weird had happened. Shuichi was trying to soak in the solitude, but it just made him nervous. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ouma’s offer.

_ You know you could use me, right? There’s nobody who knows more about this place more than me. I can see things that nobody else does.  _

He had said that he grew up in Kiwasetsu. That he knew everyone in town. Even if he still didn’t quite know what to classify Ouma as, it would be nice to be able to have  _ one _ reference to go off of while he was stuck working from home. It could also serve as an experiment. Shuichi couldn’t deny that he was endlessly curious about Ouma’s origins.

God, he was desperate.

Now if only he would just show himself again…

Shuichi tried a verbal initiation. “Hey. Ouma-kun.”

_ I am talking to myself in an empty apartment to try and get advice from a person who randomly materializes. Wonderful _ . 

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” he asked. “Listen, I… I thought about your ‘ultimatum.’ And I’ve decided. I do want to work with you. So if you could… come out? Again? So we can talk some more?”

_ This is so stupid. _

Shuichi assumed that it hadn’t worked, but that was until the cigarette he was holding extinguished itself, the smoke blowing away like a leaf in the wind. It hadn’t gone out. It had just been lit. He felt the temperature in the room drop at an alarming rate, until he was shivering. He heard the sound of the creaking hinges of a door. He looked up and that the door connecting his room to the kitchen was slowly opening.

_ Ok. _

Shuichi got up and opened the door, entering the kitchen, the tiled floor ice cold on his bare feet. He turned on the light, which began to flicker. One of the lights failed to come on altogether, the light in front of the broom closet. It finally flicked on, grabbing Shuichi’s attention. The closet door was slightly ajar. With shaky conviction, he went to open the door.  

“Ouma-kun?”

He didn’t know what else he expected, but he was immediately greeted by Ouma’s tiny, limp body hanging from a taut rope with his neck twisted at the wrong angle.

 

Shuichi screamed, falling on his ass on the cold kitchen floor. Ouma’s jovial laughter rang through the empty room. The sheer force of it only made him swing back and forth on the rope even more.

_ Oh. _

_ Oh… Goddammit.  _

“It never gets old, Saihara-chan! Never gets old!”

Shuichi got back up, flustered. “Stop doing that!”

“Hmph. I didn’t know you were so square.” Ouma let himself down from the rope and used his hand to push his head and neck back into place with a sickening  _ crack _ . 

“Square? I’m not square! I just don’t want to get to the point where I need a punch card for psychological trauma acquired within two days.”

“You still have to admit that was pretty good,” Ouma sneered. “So what’s crackin’, you handsome devil? You rang, of course.”

“I thought about your offer,” Shuichi said.

“You mean my ultimatum!”

“Yes, your… ultimatum.” 

Ouma looked at him quizzically. “And…?”

“I want your help,” Shuichi said.

“Yes!” Ouma threw his fists in the air as he followed Shuichi back into the bedroom. “I knew you would say yes! So it’s official, huh? We’re partners! I’m Lupin and you’re Zenigata!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Shuichi warned. “Besides, Zenigata was trying to arrest Lupin. They were rivals, not partners.”

“Ni-shi-shi...” Ouma grabbed Shuichi by the arm, dangling on it. “Well, yeah, but Lupin is a mysterious thief, right? The roles fit.”

Shuichi decided not to acknowledge the remark. “You’re still wearing that top? It stinks.”

Ouma laughed. “So you prefer the alternative?” He stripped off the blood-stained sweater and dumped it in the garbage can next to Shuichi’s desk, leaving him in only the shrunken boxers briefs. “There we go. Spit-spot.”

“I really liked that sweater, you know,” Shuichi said. 

“Why? I can’t imagine red is a very flattering color on you,” Ouma teased. He hopped onto the bed and sat cross-legged. “So, let’s get started! Do we get to visit the crime scenes? Are the rooms still splattered with blood since people can’t move stuff around? Oooh, do we get to draw lines around the bodies with chalk?”

Shuichi sat down at his desk. It was a strange partner to have, a mostly naked, ethereal man bouncing up and down excitedly on a queen sized bed. But Shuichi was desperate for any kind of a lead from the vantage point he could work from, so he embraced it. Even if he was just hallucinating. Shuichi lit another cigarette and held it to his lips. “No, not exactly.”  

“Can I have a drag of that?” Ouma asked. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a disgusting, unsanitary habit that I picked up because I had too much pride to ask for help and it might kill me one day,” Shuichi explained. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” 

“What, you think I’ll  _ die _ ? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Shuichi reached behind him and handed Ouma the cigarette in defeat. Ouma snatched it up excitedly. 

“Ok,” Shuichi began. “You said that you know most of the people in Kiwasetsu, yeah?”

Ouma exhaled a fat cloud of smoke. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Shuichi pulled out his files from the drawer in his desk. “Here’s the situation. I’ve been put a bit behind schedule because of… well, you know why.”

“That I do!”

Shuchi held up the manila folder. “In here is a brief description of the scene of the crime around the time that each murder was supposedly committed. Amami-kun was kind enough to put this together for me. You said you knew him, right?”

Ouma smiled. “Yep. Rantarou and I were friends back in school. He had just enrolled in the police academy back when I was alive. So he must have made it, huh?”

For some reason, the question made Shuichi worry. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live in a finite sandbox for years, completely separate from everyone that he knew, then coming back to find out that everything was different. Like a Rip van Winkle effect but without the opportunity to sleep. “He did. He’s an officer now.”

“Here in Kiwasetsu?”

“Yeah.”

“Man… I figured he’d wanna go wander around after he was done with school. He always talked about leaving, studying overseas, things like that. He once asked me if I wanted to go backpacking through Europe with him.” Ouma chuckled. “I think we were both pretty high at the time. He was definitely one of the most ambitious people that I’ve ever known, but…” Ouma sighed. “He just wound up staying here after all. How boring.”

Shuichi continued, not really sure what to make of that. “Well, he was pretty thorough in his descriptions. And he included a list of all of the known people who were in the general vicinity shortly before or after the time of the victim’s death. Here’s what I need from you,” he said. “I need to prioritize who I’m going to interview first. So I’m going to read off some names and you’ll tell me who they are and how you knew them. Sound good?”

Ouma took another drag of the cigarette. “Sure.” He somehow sounded a lot less enthusiastic. 

“Ok.” Shuichi had readied his notepad and was balancing the folder on his knee. “Tenko Chabashira. Who is she?”

“Don’t know her.”

Shuichi looked up from the folder. “What?”

“I said I don’t know her,” Ouma said in a bored tone of voice. “Next.”

“Um...ok…” Shuichi flipped to another page. “Korekiyo Shinguji.” 

“Not ringing any bells.”

“Angie Yonaga.”

“Nope.”

“Kaito Momota.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Himiko Yumeno.”

“Nein.”

"Kirumi Tojo."

“Nada.”

“Maki Harukawa!”

“Got nothin.’ ” 

Shuichi was growing frustrated. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You said that you wanted to help me. And you also said that nobody knows the people in this town better than you do. Or was that a lie too?”

Ouma grinned. “I dunno, Shumai. Was it?”

_ It wasn’t a lie. It was a mistake. _

“I don’t understand. After all that… your whole  _ monologue  _ about ‘choosing me’ or whatever and wanting to help me, you’re changing your mind?”

“Who said I changed my mind? I still want to help you. But since we’re partners, that means that you’re not the only one who gets something out of it. Isn’t that right?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ouma stretched, arching his back like a cat. “Equivalent exchange, Saihara-chan!”

Shuichi pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Well, what do you want?”

“Well, first off, some new clothes!” Ouma chirped. “As much as I just looove tempting you with my slender figure, the more I get used to wearing clothes again the more I’ve remembered how nice it can be to wear a little more than just a pair of underwear when in the presence of company. There’s a thrift store just down the road. Shirogane runs it. She tailors some of the stuff herself, even.”

Shuichi was surprised. He had expected Ouma to request something more obscure. “You want me to take you clothes shopping?”

“Among other things.” Ouma winked. Shuichi still wasn’t accustomed to Ouma’s flirtatious nature. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m not supposed to leave the apartment. Doctor’s orders.”

“Oh. Ok,” Ouma grunted. “Well then I guess I’ll just fuck right off.” He flopped onto his back and heaved a theatrical sigh. 

“We can go in a few days. Just tell me what you know about Tenko Chabashira. Then I promise I’ll take you.”

“No.”

“Ouma-kun.”

“Mm-mm.”

Shuichi promptly got up, snagged a throw pillow from the bed, took a deep breath, and screamed into it. 

Ouma yawned. “Tell us how you really feel.”

Shuichi cried out suddenly, dropping the pillow and clutching his neck, seething. 

“See?” Ouma said. “You twisted your neck again. C’mere.” Ouma grabbed Shuichi by the arm and dragged him onto the bed. Shuichi was whining from the pain, not objecting to the order. “Yeah, yeah. Cry me a river.” Ouma ran his hand over Shuichi’s nape, pulling him into an awkward hug. Shuichi was in too much pain to object. But he wasn’t about to just touch Ouma’s cold, mostly naked body. He just hung limply as Ouma held him up, chilly breathing tickling Shuichi’s bruise as he fisted the sheets on the bed, trying to ride out the wave. 

Ouma began to hum. It was nothing at first, but it evolved into something else. Shuichi quickly recognized the melody as Chopin’s  _ Raindrop _ . The strange, intimate music was strangely soothing. Somehow, it made the pain feel a little bit further away.

“Is that better?” Ouma asked. 

“Actually… yes.” Shuichi breathed. It was leaving. Much more quickly than a pain pill or running water had ever alleviated it. “ _ Raindrop _ , right?” 

“Yeah, the one by Chop-in.”

“...Who?”

“Chop-in. The artist, idiot.” Ouma snickered. “Your skills of deduction aren’t so keen for a detective, are they? If you know the song but not the composer?”

Shuichi snorted with laughter.

“What?” Ouma demanded.

Shuichi pulled away, sitting back up. “His name is pronounced ‘Sho-pan,’ Ouma-kun.”

There was a weird pause.

Then Ouma blew a cloud of smoke into Shuichi’s face. Shuichi fell backward, his coughing interrupted by laughter. “I know that!” Ouma snorted. “I have a degree in music history, I’ll have you know. That was a test, Saihara, and you passed.”

“You do not have a degree in music history,” Shuichi chuckled, covering his face. It was strange. The pain was all gone, the fastest recovery he had made since the accident. And what he was feeling now… was strange. An uncalled for giddiness. “Why Chopin, anyway?”

“I found an iPod in your desk drawer with a bunch of classical music on it. Good stuff, I liked it ok. You’re pretty into piano compositions, huh? Do you play piano? Please tell me you play piano. That would be sexy as hell.”

“I don’t. But I had an ex who was a pianist for a local orchestra in Nakameguro,” Shuichi said. “She’s the one who got me into it. I had always thought that classical music was so droll and boring… but she really turned me around.”

Ouma’s face fell. “Ah. ‘She.’ ” 

“What’s wrong?” Shuichi asked. 

Ouma smiled. “Just wondering how a greasy-headed blue-balled dipshit like you managed to land a lady. Was she super ugly? Was she at least funny? Wait, was she loaded?”

Shuichi got up. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

This only set Ouma off more. “No! Don’t stop! You can’t stop now! My Kokich-y senses are tingling! Something happened, right? You guys had some big, ugly breakup, didn’t you? Did you throw stuff? Did you say ‘I’m taking the kids’ at the end? Oh my God, did you  _ have _ kids? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Saihara-chan! Were you apart of some kind cult where you had to bump uglies to rear prophets for the end of the world?”

“Leave it, Ouma-kun. I said I don’t like talking about it.” Shuichi left for the kitchen. 

“That’s not faaair! You can’t leave me hanging like that! Where are you going?”

“Coat closet. It’s freezing outside.”

Ouma glowed. “Are you actually…”

“Fair warning. This is a smaller town than I’m used to and I could get in a lot of trouble if I’m caught outside. If you attract any attention to me while we’re out, I will kill you. Again. ”

Ouma hopped up. “For you, dearest? I’d pay for the privilege.”

 

\--

 

“Your total comes to 5,591¥,” the blue-haired, glasses-clad girl at thrift store’s register chirped. “Uh… listen, I’m not really supposed to comment on customer purchases, but these look a little small for you. We have a sizing chart in the back, if you need it.”

“Oh. These aren’t for me,” Shuichi corrected. 

“Is that why you took them into the dressing room with you?”

“Uh…”

The girl laughed. “We all have our ideal body goals and the shapes and types that we crave. I think that you look fine, personally, but hey, what do I know? I’m a pear and I honestly wish I was more of an hourglass. Well, lucky for you, we have a pretty flexible return policy. The receipt’s in there, so if these don’t work out, you can bring ‘em right back, ok? Have a good rest of your day! Enjoy your time in town! Good luck with your workout program!”

“Y-yeah,” Shuichi said sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Ouma was giggling like a maniac as they walked out of the store, clearly mocking Shuichi’s embarrassing exchange. “Don’t look at me like that! Look, I saved you fifteen hundred yen.” He gestured down to his new outfit. It was simple, comprising of a white sweater, black skinny jeans, and a scarf with a checkerboard pattern. Ouma still insisted that he didn’t need shoes. “She won’t even know that it’s gone.”

“It isn’t very morally sound to steal from local businesses.”

“Have you  _ met _ Shirogane? She’s a huge bitch. She can deal.”

“She doesn’t seem like it.”

“Well,  _ I  _ have no qualms stealing from that shithole of a shop she’s so proud of.” 

“How does that work, anyway?” Shuichi asked. “I know she can’t see you, but how did that clerk not see… I don’t know, a floating sweater and pants suspended in midair instead?”

“Mystical prowess, Saihara-chan!” Ouma cackled. “I’ve found that things that I hold or touch get pulled into a sort of ‘vanish radius.’ Oooh! ‘Vanish Radius,’ cool band name, I call it!” 

“Wait, so anything you touch can become invisible along with you?”

“ ‘Bout right.”

“So… if I were to touch you, could I become invisible too?”

Ouma hugged his sides. “Oh my. When did  _ you _ get so eager to touch me?”

“...Why do you keep doing that?” 

Ouma furrowed his brow. “Doing what?”

They turned at the end of the block so as to venture into the quieter roads closer to the ocean. “Well… actually, it’s nothing. I guess until I started staying here I’ve never been used to being around people that are so openly flirtatious.”

Ouma laughed. “T’haa! That’s right! You’re staying with Iruma! You know, when I was still in school we’d call her The Village Bicycle because everyone’s had a ride!”

So Iruma’s reputation preceded her after all. Shuichi had been hesitant to use the word “town slut” when referring to Iruma in his notes, so he tended to dance around her altogether. “She says the most vulgar things so offhandedly. I don’t get the appeal of it. It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Maybe it just makes you uncomfortable because Saihara-chan is a stick in the mud that doesn’t know how to have any fun. They’re just words. They don’t mean anything. It’s just how she talks.”

“I actually looked into it, and it turns out that words do mean things, Ouma-kun.” 

Ouma decided to ignore the catty remark. “And if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, is what I say. What you do is you say the dirtiest thing that you can imagine out loud and then Iruma’s dirty talk won’t rattle you as much. I’ll start, ok?” Ouma cleared his throat dramatically and looked Shuichi square in the eye. “I want you to make me cum on a black shirt and then force me to wear my own jizz stains in public like a graphic tee.”

“Nope. Uh-uh. Still hate it.”

“Oh come on! Live a little!” 

 

\--

 

“Ok. Tenko Chabashira.”

Shuichi had picked a bench by the town’s small boardwalk to conduct Ouma’s interview. Ouma had finally agreed to cough up some knowledge about the people on Shuichi’s list after going shopping. He wished they could just go back to the shop, but Ouma insisted on staying outside a bit longer. The pages in the notebook that Shuichi brought with him flapped in the briny breeze. 

“Ah, Miss Chabashira. Kiwasetsu’s resident radical feminist.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Hold onto your balls when you’re around her, Saihara-chan. She hates men. Like, crazy irrationally hates men. She’s the most aggressively lesbian woman I’ve ever met. One time I stopped at the steps of her dojo to say hi to her cat and she just about bit my head off. And then I went by the next day and -- I kid you not -- she pointed to me through the window, held up a pencil with both hands and snapped it in half.”

Shuichi didn’t really know what to do with that information. “So… she’s prone to aggression. Mainly towards men.”

“Understatement of the year.” 

Shuichi paused. That was fairly useful information. All of the victims, after all, were young men. “You said she works at the dojo?”

“Yep. The one by the southern jetty. Great view of the ocean. Lots of athletes go on training sabbaticals here and they host lessons for kids, so it’s a fairly successful place. The high school’s aikido club uses it, too.”

“Ok… Korekiyo Shinguji.” If Shuichi was right, he already sort of knew who this was.

Ouma shivered. “Yeeeek. No thank you. Not a big fan of this one.”

“Oh?”

“He’s the guy who owns Manami shrine. He’s not one of the priests or anything like that, he just manages the place. He’s the creepiest person I’ve ever met in my life,” Ouma explained.

_ Says the one who surprised me by hanging himself in my closet this morning _ , Shuichi thought.

“Growing up, I remember knowing about the Shinguji family, but I never actually saw them that often. They never showed up to community events, and I’m pretty sure all the kids were homeschooled. I dunno if the parents still live in town, but they mostly just kept to themselves, living on the outskirts far away from everyone else like a bunch of inbred paraplegics. Oh, with leprosy! Great, now I’m depressed just thinking about it. Apparently the family had a big ol’ freak accident back in… what was it, 2013?”

“What kind of accident?”

“Nobody really knows. All’s I was able to find out through some snooping was that their daughter was hospitalized for a while. May have been unrelated. Details are fuzzy.”

“Daughter? You mean Hanae Shinguji?”

“Pssht, I dunno. Never met her. Next.”

Shuichi made a note that Hanae would probably need to be interviewed as well. She at least would be easy, being the temperate albeit strange person that she was. Hastily finishing his notes, Shuichi flipped to the next page. “Angie Yonaga.”

“The religious nut!” Ouma exclaimed. “The spiritual interloper Angie Yonaga! She’s not from Kiwasetsu. She originally said she was here on a pilgrimage of some kind, but I think she’s just some religious missionary who wound up staying here. Started off going door-to-door and things like that, now she’s more of a hermit who occasionally pops into town to go grocery shopping. Probably half her weight in dragonfruit and kale. Yech.”

“What religion does she practice?”

“Some kind of Pacific-Island Native creed that I’ve never heard of. Everyone thought she was into some really deep, profound shit when she first moved here, but we realized pretty quick that she’s just crazy. Actually, I think her exact wording when describing herself was ‘holy vessel.’ You know what I think? She came here to start a cult. She figured we’d all be throwing ourselves into the ocean like lemmings within a year. But that didn’t pan out, obviously, so she just never left.”

“When did she first show up?” Shuichi asked. 

“I wanna say about four years ago, a little before my ticket got punched. I didn’t really know Angie all that well.” 

Shuichi realized he was becoming very uneasy about beginning interviews. He had figured that in a town so small there would be at least a few odd characters, but it felt like that was the case for every resident that he encountered. 

“Ok, let’s move on. Kai--”

“TIME!”

Shuichi blinked. “What?”

Ouma grinned. “Time’s up, dearest. Sorry, what were we about to do again?”

“You were about to tell me about Kaito Momota.”

“Who? Never heard of him.” Ouma hopped off of the bench. 

“Yes you have.” Shuichi was growing annoyed again. “Come on, can we not do this again?”

Ouma extended a hand toward Shuichi. “Maybe my darling Saihara-chan wants to take me for a spin. Maybe going for a walk will jog my memory a bit?”

_ Go with it. Indulge. Don’t complain. _

“O...ok?” 

Ouma grabbed Shuichi’s hand and pulled him up. “Well, come on then!” Ouma was bullshitting him again. If he wanted to go somewhere, why didn’t he just say it outright?

“Where are we going?”

“I want to take you somewhere that I like to go when I want to be alone.”

Ouma didn’t let go of Shuichi’s hand. 

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little something that I like to call a fragment chapter. Sorry there's not much of an ending to it. 
> 
> Character sketches are coming, but maybe not as many as I thought there would be. At least ones of Kokichi and Shuichi are on their way. See you next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks muchly for reading, hope you liked that. And if you've subscribed, I'll see you next time.


End file.
